Where Death Has Dominion
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The Dominion, true to its namesake, sought to dominate. The Freelancers, true to their creed, sought to oppose them. But even if they triumphed, what kind of salvation could the world offer?


**Where Death Has Dominion**

The Dominion prisoner was unusually quiet.

Not that Coda was complaining. Silence was preferable to the garbage that usually came out of Dominion soldiers' mouths, said garbage usually revolving around death to their enemies, achieving control over the powers of the Shapers, or some combination of the two. If anything, the latter would precede the former on the Dominion's list of objectives. And yet, sitting in the Strider's brig, with no sound but the 'clumps' of its feet hitting the soil thirty feet below her, the silence wasn't exactly perfect either.

 _Had to take you alive, didn't I?_ She reflected, looking at the man on the other side of the bars. _Couldn't just kill you and stay in the field, could I? No. Had to take you back to Fort Tarsis to be interrogated. Had to play errand-girl. Had to travel in this oversized walking house instead of flying free._

The prisoner still remained silent. Not that she was expecting him to say anything (far as she knew, telepathy was a power that not even the Dominion possessed), but then again, the only other conversations was the sound of the Strider walking, or with Owen and Kyla up in the cockpit. Fine people, but when she was out in the field, she had them yammering in her ears for hours on end. By the time she returned to the Strider, anything that could be said often _had_ been said.

 _So what have you got to say for yourself?_ She wondered, still looking at the prisoner. Still seated on the ground, his back against the wall, showing no signs of distress that he was in the belly of the beast, waiting to be fed to the proverbial ursix. _Well?_

Still nothing. Silence remained in the brig, if "brig" was even the right word to use. Fort Tarsis had a brig. Some of the ruins that dotted the world had something approaching brigs. No doubt brigs were everywhere in the kingdom to the north. But was this a brig? No.

 _Damn it._

Was she a warden? No. The Freelancers wanted this monster alive, so be it. Didn't mean she had to be professional. So, pouring some water from a nearby faucet into a pair of cups, she walked over to the cell and uttered the first word that had been spoken in this room in the last hour.

"Thirsty?" she asked.

Didn't have to be fancy words. It was enough to get the man to look up at her.

"Are you thirsty?" she repeated.

He didn't say anything. He just sat there and stared. Sighing, Coda took a sip from both glasses.

"There," she said. "Now if this is poisoned, I'm going to die to."

Considering the water came from a tank that wasn't entirely leak-proof, Coda knew that the Strider's water supply wasn't exactly the freshest in the world. But it would keep her hydrated, and her prisoner as well. A prisoner who stood up, still silent, and put out a hand. Keeping the silence, Coda handed one of the glasses to him. Watched, and saw how the silence was broken as the sound of water hitting the ground was heard, courtesy of him pouring it out of the cup. Heard, and more importantly, seen.

"You could have just said no," she murmured.

She turned around and returned to the table in the centre of the brig that wasn't a brig, but was called a brig because she didn't have a better word on hand. ETA to Fort Tarsis was five hours. If she'd been in her Javelin she could have closed that distance in a fraction of the time, but-

"Why?"

She spun her head to look at the prisoner. He was still standing there, but this time, his hands were grasped against the bars.

"Why?" she repeated.

"Why?"

"Why…" She sighed. "Listen, when you say 'why,' I'm going to need some context."

"Why give me water?" he asked.

"Um, well, I-"

"You're obviously no interrogator – not even your kind are that incompetent."

She went to say something but the prisoner beat her to it. "And obviously this isn't from the kindness of your heart, so I'm left puzzled as to why you'd waste water on me."

She got to her feet and walked over to the bars that were preventing her from smashing the bastard's face in. "I didn't waste the water. You did."

He chuckled, drawing back from the bars, but not in fright. "I suppose I did. But we both know all about how wasteful the Freelancers are, don't we?"

"Pardon?"

"You're content to do nothing with the artifacts of the gods, and-"

"Oh here we go." Coda threw her hands up and walked back to the chair she'd previously been sitting on. She plonked it down in front of the cell, sat down on it, and crossed her legs and arms, smirking. Enough to get the prisoner to stare at her.

"What are you doing?" he murmured.

"Watching. Isn't that what an audience does?"

"This isn't a stage play you cretin."

"No, it really is." Coda leant forward, still smirking. "See, here's the thing. I've heard it all. I've killed over a dozen of you, and in the midst of bullets, rockets, and everything else our Javelins use, there's always some declaration of righteousness before the end. That you'll lead humanity to a bright new world, that the powers of the gods will be yours, and all will be right in the world."

The prisoner frowned, though Coda could see he was trying to hide it. "Over a dozen...well, even then, we outnumber you. A fortress is nothing to a kingdom."

"And a kingdom's only as strong as its people," Coda said. "Why else do you think that Fort Tarsis has endured throughout the years?"

"I have many thoughts about Fort Tarsis and you people," the prisoner said, giving emphasis to the word "people" in a way that didn't escape Coda's notice. "But alright then. You clearly don't agree that the artifacts of the gods should be harnessed. That the Anthem of Creation should be used to benefit of humanity."

Coda snorted. " _Benefit_ isn't the word I'd used."

"But when you've defeated us, killed us, and burnt our lands to the ground, and all is just and right in the world, ask yourselves, what then?"

Coda didn't say anything. She didn't understand the question.

"What then?" the prisoner asked. "The artifacts of the gods remain. The world remains in flux. Humanity remains trapped at the edifice between oblivion and hell. All because of an ancient order well past its time, too afraid to move from the precipice lest it collapse."

Coda chose her next words carefully, and uttered them with a whisper. "Fine words. But your efforts to harness the powers of the Shapers…that's what's going to cause the precipice to collapse in your analogy."

"Perhaps. But yours leaves mankind stuck on the precipice for eternity. Sooner or later, the cliff will collapse."

"And you care about that?" she whispered. "After all the Dominion has done?"

"Every civilization is built on blood as much as mortar. And we, at least, have a kingdom to call civilization. The Freelancers call a miserable fortress home, and look only to maintain the 'natural order of things.'" He smirked. "But we both know that's a lie, isn't it? The world isn't natural. The gods left, and whatever their vision for the world, we can only guess at it." He took a step forward, grasping the bars again. Looking at her, as if begging. "You can change it, you know? If the gods left, why shouldn't we take their place? Shape the world as we see fit?"

"Because people have tried," Coda said. "And done more damage than the relics have by themselves."

"So you walk the path of cowardice."

"I'd prefer to call it the path of reason."

"Reason." He snorted, turning away from her. "What do you know of _reason_?"

She didn't say anything. She wasn't so arrogant to say that the argument had been won, but could tell that the prisoner wasn't interested in discussing it any further. Even if he had been, he was a zealot – if he refused to see reason, that was his prerogative. Five hours from now, he'd be seeing a whole lot of other things, none of them pleasant unless he opened his mouth and sung the tune the Sentinels wanted him to.

 _Usually starts minor before major there…_

She took another sip of water and returned to the table, pretending to busy herself in the parchment. She didn't want to think about the Sentinels. The Dominion was monstrous, and that meant utilizing monstrous tactics to combat them. She didn't like it, but then, it wasn't her place to ask. All that mattered was that the Dominion and its insane plans to control the Anthem be defeated. After that…well, after that, life would continue on as normal. The world would remain in flux, humanity would remain behind the walls of Fort Tarsis, and the Freelancers, at ever, would keep the monsters from the gate. Do what they'd always done, because there was no alternative.

She shot a look at the prisoner. He was sitting down now, eyes closed. Thinking of what, she could only imagine. Possibly the fact that he was doomed to die, due to following a doomed cause. Not that the Dominion considered it doomed, but…

She shook her head and headed for the cockpit.

 _No alternative._

She had to believe that.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _Idea for this came from a comment from one of the developers, basically stating that even after defeating the Dominion in the game's main storyline, the world itself won't become less hostile to its denizens. And of course, this is something you'd expect, since ARPGs/MMOs don't end for players after completing the main quest - always got to kill something and whatnot. Still, for whatever reason, gave me the idea to write this down._


End file.
